There once was the daughter of a fisherman
who was deathly afraid of the sea.
Sat on the shore at the port of Jaffa,
Looked out into the horizon and dreamed of conquering her fear.
Time went on and her dream faded into the backdrop of days turning into years and years turning into life.
The sea could wait, as the land called first.
One day, a storm came crashing onto the shore
and the daughter of the fisherman drowned beneath the weight of a thousand waves,
whisking her away far from her home and into the unknown.
Nearly one hundred years passed when she woke up on the rocky shore of Raouche.
Salt burned in her eyes,
The scent of sea and smoke filled her nostrils.
Time and circumstance had made her even more afraid of the water,
of the weather that brewed beyond.
She knew nothing of Jaffa.
Of her great grandfather’s reputation.
Of the shining scales of his most bountiful catch.
She scoured the markets, the streets, the stores –
Collecting fish trinkets and souvenirs.
She searched within them for an identity that lay in her history;
A name that swam in her blood.
Piecing them together as she avoided what felt the most familiar –
The sea.
On a clear day, she could see the waves in the distance from her apartment.
Something beyond the blue called her name,
Floundering in her stomach and submerging her skull within its depths,
But
All she could do was walk away from the window,
Back to her box of trinkets.
She had drowned one too many times.
